


To Live Without: Part II

by Cazio



Series: To Live Without [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Babies, Cazio, Dark, Death, M/M, Mpreg, Previous mpreg, Thorki - Freeform, Thunderfrost - Freeform, You Have Been Warned, horrible horrible sadness, to live without
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazio/pseuds/Cazio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's sole purpose is to protect his child. Alone in unforgiving Muspelheim, he will find a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Live Without: Part II

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my other fic [To Live Without](http://archiveofourown.org/works/556515). I highly suggest reading that one before reading this one, though I think this one can be read on its own if need be. That said, this is sort of an inconsistent sequel. It is a continuation of that story, but a few minor things changed--nothing that has any grand effect on the story. 
> 
> _Also, thanks to marty-mc on tumblr, who unknowingly inspired me to actually finish this from when I'd started it months ago._
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNING:** This fic has extremely dark themes including death and implied torture. You have been warned.

Loki clutched his chest as another wave of coughs began. His thin, shaking fingers clasped his tattered robes, white on black. Long gone were the days where he could venture to the kitchens and request warm soup or tea with honey. Frigga sometimes sent him some honey with her letters, but those had stopped too. Finally, he had been able to best his mother’s locating magic and disappear from sight. She had tried so hard to find him—he had felt an insistent pressing in his mind that he had only just escaped on some occasions. The past years had been full of weakness—putrid, detestable weakness.

Blood spattered the backside of Loki’s teeth as he moved a hand to cover his mouth, avoiding the encroaching glare of the elderly dark elf tending the market stall he had been browsing. Loki was sickly and he knew it, but he was still a paying customer who deserved respect. If this greyskin knew of his true identity, he would be showering him in trinkets.

“They say the son of Odin will visit soon,” a woman said to the shopkeeper. She was a rare sight in this realm with hair that glowed platinum. A Light Elf. Once upon a time, the very scent of her would cause all of Muspelheim to go searching for white flesh to burn. Loki was paler than she was, but the stringy, ratty mess of black hair peeked through his cowl expose the fact that he was not, in fact, a Light Elf.

“The palace,” Loki croaked, coughing into his hand. “He will only go to the palace.”

The woman’s pale grey eyes lingered on his hand for a moment, undoubtedly noticing the crimson spattered there. “That is not what I have heard. I hear he wishes to make amends with the Dark Elves.”

“Well, he will be doing no such thing,” the shopkeeper grunted, paying out five silver pieces in change. Loki’s mouth watered at the sight of them. He had not seen more than the coal pieces in his pocket since…long ago.

“You do not like the son of the Allfather? I think he is wise.” This woman spoke as if she knew Thor personally. Loki hated it.

“He is far from wise,” Loki muttered, counting out the exact amount of smoke rice that he was able to afford. The grains slipped so easily through his fingers, but were so polluted with the dust and ash of Muspelheim that they did more harm to him than good. But it was all he could afford and he was barely able to walk, much less steal anything. Besides, every Dark Elf in the village knew him as one who was not to be trusted. They called him the White Snake. There were even rumors he ate children—he had heard the children whispering about it whenever he passed. How they had come up with such a thing, he did not know.

“And what do you know about the son of Odin?”

Loki met the woman’s gaze and swallowed down some of the blood he had coughed up. “Plenty.”

She nodded once, taking her fresh bread and spices in her arms. “Your opinion does not change mine, though I will have to consider it. Despite your current state, you look to be a bright man.”

The faintest smirk touched Loki’s lips as he placed his mottled sack of rice on the scale. Bright indeed.

“I trust you have no intention of eating that,” the woman said. Loki did not respond. She would know even if he lied that eating this rice was exactly his intention. He heard her open her coin purse and he turned, glaring at her with one bloodshot eye, the other shaded by his cowl.

“I have no need for your charity,” Loki snarled, fishing out his two coal pieces and placing them on the counter.  “Nor do I want it.”

“You do not look like a man who was born here. Your skin is too smooth and your speech is far more refined than any commoner in any realm. Who are you?”

Loki chuckled as best he could without coughing. A bit of blood trickled from his lips and he wiped it off onto the back of his thumb. “I am called the White Snake by the people here.”

“You are an Aesir,” she murmured, watching him carefully.

Oh, if only. Loki could not laugh without pain, so he gave a low snort instead. “I am from Asgard, yes.” The shopkeeper muttered something about coal under his breath as he weighed the sack of rice, his dark grey skin almost swallowed by the darkness of the cloths that made up his humble little tent. Loki needed to be going, he had to make it up the mountain pass before nightfall and before Thor arrived. His brother had not seen him in eight years. If Loki had his way, they would never speak again. If they never _saw_ each other again, that would be even better.

“Anything else?” the shopkeeper asked with a frown. He clearly wanted Loki out to make way for new customers who would actually be giving him pay.

“A sweet,” Loki murmured, almost too quietly for anyone to hear.

“You haven’t the coin for a sweet,” the Dark Elf snorted. “You only ever have two co—“

“A sweet,” Loki said, louder this time.

“I will buy him five more to go with it and a fresh loaf or bread,” the Light Elf announced, placing two silver pieces on the counter.

“No,” Loki croaked, but then he was coughing again. It was starting to hurt more and more.

“Yes,” she insisted, pushing the money forward.

Though Loki wanted to fight her, he couldn’t. He simply did not have the energy to do any more fighting. “And some mashed oats, please,” he wheezed. He could at least make her uncomfortable. “With honey and milk.”

“That hardly seems like a meal for you,” the Light Elf said, shaking her head. She moved to change his order but Loki stuck out a bony, shaking hand.

“My son,” he managed as he began hacking again. These wet, ugly coughs were tearing up his throat. “He is just a babe.”

She blinked at him then nodded once as the shopkeeper grabbed Loki’s things. A tin of mashed oats, a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, and five sweets. His baby would love them. Loki gathered up what they had bought and left he tent without so much as a thank you. He needed to return home quickly. Quickly, quickly.

 

 

 

Muspelheim was home to the Dark Elves for many reasons. One of them being that living there without magic was a death sentence. There was so much ash, sulfur, and fire in this realm that the air was always dry and hot until nightfall, when the temperatures plummeted far below freezing. No one knew why, but it just happened that way. Dark Elves could handle the rises and falls without much of a problem, and after living there for so long they could even eat the animals that roamed the realm; most of which were dangerous and hardly looked edible. But the real reason few other species survived was that the very air breathed in Muspelheim had particles of coal, ash, and even diamond dust. If not kept away by magic, it filled the lungs. Loki had lived seven years here and six and a half without magic. He was dying, but he forced himself to continue for his child. It had worked so far.

Once he had left the village, he was faced with walking a mile over the fine black sand of the desert plains he called his home. Loki lived on his own and away from Dark Elf villages—not that they would have accepted him anyway. He did not want his child anywhere close to the elves.

He fell down more than a few times as he walked, but managed not to lose or dirty any of his things. Loki’s legs were weaker now than they had ever been, and his ribs were all clearly defined when he took off his robes. It was even possible to count the knobs of his spine. He had no strength left, no fight except for his son. His perfect son. A tiny smile curled Loki’s lips just at the thought of him.

As he summited a sand dune close to his home, however, Loki stopped in his tracks. A caravan was approaching and if that was not bad enough, it was an Asgardian caravan. Thor’s ridiculously dimwitted goats were gnashing at their bits, clearly frightened of Muspelheim but forced onward across the sand that swallowed up their cloved hooves as they walked. The wind was kicking up dust and Loki dropped to the ground, hoping he had not been seen. The guards’ white horses reared up as the sand pelted then in every crevice they weren’t armored and the guards themselves looked to be cringing. They were not focused on the horizon.

Now was the time.

Loki stood up and started sprinting as fast as he could across the grey sand, eyes on a black crack in a rock face not far off. His baby needed him now and he could not deal with Aesir and the fact that they were clearly lost in the desert. The palace was far to the north. Thor was brighter than he looked sometimes—he could figure it out alone.

“Mommy’s coming, darling,” he whispered as he scrambled to his feet after falling again. “You just wait, just wait.”

His ribcage was threatening to burst open by the time he made it to a thin horizontal crack in the side of the mountain. He had made the cavern himself with some of the last of his strong magic. It was a fortress of sorts, for his baby. Runes were engraved around the entrance that warded off everything from locating spells to snakes. Nothing entered except for Loki. He slipped into the crack and pulled his belongings through, but the world was spinning around so fast that he was forced to slump into the sand before doing anything.

He sat there for what felt like years until his breath slowed enough for him to focus. “Mommy’s…here,” he greeted between pants, reaching out a hand. It fell to the sand as his vision started to spot black. He had to eat.

Loki took a bite of the warm, doughy bread once he had opened the cloth that held it, and he went to Valhalla right then. It was perfect and filling and wonderful. It had been a long time since he’d been able to chew anything like this. A wind filled the carven and Loki moved over to the corner where the baby’s cradle sat, shielding it from the wind. All was quiet so the child must have been sleeping.

“Your father’s here,” Loki whispered, tracing a finger along the black metal of the cradle. He had fashioned it himself with magic, long ago when he’d been able to do such things.

The cradle began to sway gently and Loki smiled fondly. The baby slept just like Thor—deep, long sleeps that seemed to never end. His son hated waking. “He comes to visit the Dark Elf king.”

After he wrapped the bread once more, he placed it down and grabbed one of the sweets he had purchased. “Look, I brought you a sweet. This one is red, just like your cheeks.“

“Father!”

Loki whipped around, entire body going feral. He saw little leather boots just outside the cavern, dancing in and out of view as whomever it was hopped around.

“Father, come quickly! I found where he went off to, Father! I found the rat!”

“It’s all right,” Loki soothed his child, slowly backing into the corner. The cavern would be too dark to see in at first for the Aesir, who were used to bright places and bright things. The sound of horses approaching told Loki that he was surrounded. Of course, he’d built a tunnel for just such an occasion, but it had been seven years since he had gone in there and he had sworn never to go in again after last time.

When he saw boots of black and gold, Loki’s heart jumped to his throat. Thor.

“Now, now, Hakon,” Thor said in the same commanding baritone he’d always had. “We must not call anyone a rat.”

Hakon was Thor’s son, Loki realized. His son by Sif. He had three sons now, as Loki recalled. Three sons ill fit for the throne. Loki’s was Thor’s first son—Loki’s was the true king. Loki rocked the cradle with shaking hands, clutching tight to his lone, rusty dagger.

“But father, he ran away! Rats run away.”

“Not always, my son,” Thor said. “Sometimes we run because we are scared. Sometimes we run away because we think bad things will happen.” There was shifting of the sand and Loki held his breath as Thor’s boots faced him. Then knees. Then Thor’s face was right at the entrance to his home and Loki smacked a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.

His brother had hair longer than Loki had ever seen it—a good three inches past his shoulders—with an even warmer, more handsome appearance than ever before. His beard had filled out a bit and his eyes were wiser and softer. He was king now. “Hello?” Thor asked.

Loki lunged before he could think of anything else to do. He would not have his child harmed. He shoved his blade toward Thor’s face, but realized he had missed only when an incredibly strong hand gripped his thin, pale arm. Loki did scream then.

“Get Hakon back to the caravan!” Thor boomed and Loki could hear the guards scrambling to do as ordered. Loki pulled desperately against Thor’s grip, then picked up a rock and stuck his other arm through the crack to gouge at any skin he could reach. Thor flinched, but then Loki’s other arm was in a hold.

“Come out here, you pathetic worm. Hiding in your dark caves like an animal,” Thor muttered. He started to pull and Loki wailed louder—they couldn’t take him, his baby was inside! His baby was sleeping and they couldn’t leave him!

His cowl still hung over his head as Loki was quickly wrenched from his cave and tossed into the center of the sand clearing that he had spent so many hours in with his baby, talking to him and showing him the stars at night, the clouds in the morning. Loki scrambled for footing to dive back inside, but Thor kicked him over onto his back and pressed a foot down on his ribcage.

“Now, what fool tries to attack a king?” Thor spat, leaning down and pressing more weight onto Loki’s chest as he fought for air.

Thor pushed aside the knotted mess of hair that covered Loki’s face and Loki snarled, clawing at Thor’s boot and kicking his legs wildly. He was avoiding Thor’s gaze, but when a hand gripped his face and forced him to look, Loki knew Thor recognized him.

“Gods,” Thor breathed. The foot on his chest was immediately taken off and Thor looked at him closer. Bad move. Loki punched him square in the jaw and shoved with all of his might. Of course, Thor didn’t budge. “Loki, oh gods, Loki.” Thor pulled him into his arms and Loki was too weak to fight him off. His body was quivering too much already.

“My baby,” he croaked into Thor’s ear. “My baby is inside.” He slipped his arm around Thor’s neck because that was all he knew to do with Thor: to hold him close and not let go.

“Your baby?” Thor asked, standing up with Loki cradled to him. “Guards, there is an infant in there. Fetch it.”

“They cannot…runes…” Loki whispered.

“I can lift them,” a shaking voice said. Loki turned his head to see his mother standing there as beautiful as she had ever been. “Hello, “ she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks. “Loki, my son.”

“My baby,” Loki whispered, clutching tighter to Thor.

“Mother will fetch your baby, Loki,” Thor murmured, hoisting him up a little higher in his arms. “And while she fetches your baby, you need to be seen to.”

Loki clawed into Thor’s neck, glancing to where he knew the cave entrance was. He would not leave without his child.

“Hush, Loki,” Thor soothed. “We are just going to the caravan, I promise nothing will happen to your…?”

“Son!” Loki snapped. Thor had not even remembered his own child and that made Loki furious. “Son! He is my son!” He started to flail, anything he could do to get out of Thor’s grip and back to his baby.

“Loki, Loki, shh,”Thor said, squeezing him tighter and not letting him free. “We’ll find your son. I swear no harm with come to him.”

Loki continued to fight, but exhaustion hit him so hard after a few more kicks that he fell limp in Thor’s arms, awake but unable to move any more. His body was shutting down.

 

 

 He barely even registered when Thor started running. Colors moved in and out of his vision but he could not tell to what things they belonged. Water ran over his skin, then knives, then hands. He was warm and it wasn’t until some time later that he realized it was Thor’s arms around him that made him that way.

“Thor,” he croaked, his throat raw. His fingers curled into the cloth of Thor’s tunic, desperate for his son. A warm hand folded over his and Thor pulled his hand away.

“I am here,” he murmured.

“My baby,” Loki whispered.

“Loki, you are not to speak. How long have you been living in Muspelheim, brother? Your lungs were so full of dust that you would have died in just a few days’ time. But you are well now. We have fixed you.”

Loki tried to sit up, but found that his body would not move. He was still too exhausted. So he nuzzled into Thor’s chest with glazed eyes, picking at threads of Thor’s collar. They had changed his clothes; exposing the scars that littered his body more than they had the last time Thor had seen him. He had been attacked so many times in recent years—a lonely wanderer was easy pickings for bandits. That was why he had been forced to hide his child during he day: to save him from harm. So many would kill a babe simply because his father had no coin to give.

“Do you remember ten years ago,” Loki whispered. “The summer?”

Thor thumbed at his temple, looking down at him as though Loki were a baby himself. “I do.”

That summer had been so sweet. Warmer than most summers, with brighter flowers and greener grasses than Loki had ever remembered. Or perhaps that was because he had allowed himself to fall in love. They had been so young then, he and Thor. Thor had shorter hair and newer muscle and lust that any young maiden could smell from a mile away. Yet Thor had chosen him on the night it had mattered most—a night when the fields were aglow with fireflies and laughter echoed through the meadows as lovers were chosen and love was made.

“I liked that summer,” Loki breathed.

“It will forever be my favorite summer,” Thor said quietly with a kiss to his forehead.

Loki’s eyes rolled over to try and see where he was. A bedroom. A bedroom in a grand tent, lit by firelight, judging from the way the shadows danced.

“Where is Sif?”

“Away,” Thor said. “She fights a battle with the Vanir.”

“You love her,” Loki said.

“I do,” Thor replied, pushing back Loki’s hair. “She is the mother of my children and my Queen.”

Not all of you children, Loki wanted to say. Not all. “Good” was all he could find to speak aloud.

“I love Sif, but it is a love built upon years of trust and companionship. Sometimes lust, but not so much as it was before. I will fall out of love with her some day, I know. I have only ever truly loved you, Loki.”

Loki simply blinked, unfazed by Thor’s confession. For some reason he had expected it, no matter how false it was. If Thor truly loved him, he would have left Sif. He would have stayed in bed that night with his love and his child and forced Loki to stay because he had known that was what was best. Instead, Thor had been a fool and trusted his liar brother’s word.

“Thor,” Frigga said, announcing her presence. Her voice was tight.

“Have you found the baby?” Thor asked.

Frigga did not answer, but she must have done something to beckon her eldest son, for Thor shifted to put Loki in the bed. “Here, Loki,” Thor soothed, lying him down on his side, Loki’s body still curled and limp. “I will be back, I promise. I will spend all night with you to keep you warm and safe.” Thor kissed his cheek, but Loki’s eyes were dead.

“I’m right here,” Loki whispered as Thor walked away. “You do not have to be scared anymore.”

Frigga tried to keep her voice down, but Thor was incapable of whispering.

“What do you mean ‘empty’?”

 

* * *

  

A wicked storm was upon Muspelheim. Thunder rocked the mountain faces and black sand was whipped up in crashing waves worse than Asgardian oceans during a typhoon. Loki was still strong enough to summon a forcefield to protect him from the sand as he raced home in the dark, trying to ignore the calls of the wild things that roamed the sand plains at such hours. He hadn’t been able to steal anything but a tangerine. A wrinkled, old tangerine.

He pushed on despite the ache in his legs and kept alert as he approached his home. Lightning flashed, illuminating terrifying shadows on the rocks, but Loki had three blades in each pocket to defend himself and his child. Besides, he was too thin to be a worthy meal anyway.

Once he reached his cavern, he slid through the crack and into his home. The sand was blocked by his runes, but the sound was something he’d been unable to deal with as of yet. Engraving permanent magic drained him too quickly to use for a spell he did not need.

He shook the sand from his clothes and took of his jacket, pulling out the tangerine. With a flick of his fingers a warm light illuminated the cavern and he ran toward the cradle where his son waited for him, whispering.

“Shh, shh, do not cry,” Loki whispered, smiling though his heart was broken at the sight of tears tracked down those perfect round cheeks. He reached into the crib and untied the ribbon of silk that had been around the baby’s head to stop him from wailing—the sound of a crying baby brought predators, so Loki had been forced to do what he had to. He gently thumbed at the corners of his son’s mouth, wiping away the dried crust and spit there.

With shaking hand, he lifted his son out of his cradle and the baby began to cry so loudly that the howling wind was almost drowned out. Loki changed him using a bit of magic that took the last bit of his abilities away for the day. He had nothing left to pull from.

But it was worth it to hold his son to his chest and rock him. “Mommy’s here,” he murmured, kissing the soft white-blonde fuzz atop his son’s round head. He moved the baby so that he could hear Loki’s heartbeat and after a few long minutes, the wailing simmered to low whimpering. All the while, Loki soothed and soothed, swaying the two of them in time with the thunderclaps as the storm raged outside.

Tonight, however, was different than most. The baby stopped crying, then started again. At the same time, Loki felt a little vibration against his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you, little one?” He kissed the top of his baby’s head and bounced him a little. All he had was a tangerine. A stupid tangerine. “I have a bit of juice for you, let us make you your juice. Come here.” He lifted up his baby and smiled wide before showering his cheeks and forehead with kisses. Usually he laughed. That day, the crying continued.

It had been four days since either of them had eaten a proper meal. His son had drunk water and barely a cup of goat’s milk, mixed with a bit of Loki’s Jotun blood that eased digestion. The baby had been growing sicker by the day, but he was still round and had a bit of fat on him yet. Soon Loki would be able to steal the milk he needed—all he had to do was gather the strength for one clone to distract the shopkeeper and use an invisibility spell for a few moments. He was almost ready—then they would have enough milk to make them both fat and bursting with joy.

Loki cut the tangerine with his son wailing into his ear, fingers shaking. He cut his finger and quickly pressed it to his baby’s lips, but the crimson just smeared onto his son’s cheeks as he blubbered.

Loki placed his cloak onto the sand and laid his baby down on it, then again tried to feed him some of the blood from his finger. His son refused and more tears leaked down his cheeks.

“Please, darling, eat,” he begged. “You have to eat before I can give you your juice.” The acid from a tangerine would disrupt his stomach far too much. But his baby simply kicked and cried more. That was when Loki noticed the red that ringed his perfect green eyes. The ribs that were visible where his swaddling cloths had shifted. The baby’s stomach growled again, loud enough that Loki swore he could feel it in his bones.

His son was starving.

The baby’s crying was not just from hunger, but also from pain. He was in pain. “No, no, darling,” Loki murmured, picking his son back up into his arms and cradling him. “Tomorrow we will have food.” He smiled, but his child only wailed louder. “I promise I will have milk for you tomorrow, I promise. I promise, I promise.” But there were tears in his eyes.

He tried the tangerine anyway, squeezing juice onto his son’s lips. It quieted him for a moment, but a few minutes later when Loki burped him, the white spit-up was streaked pink.

“Did I ever tell you how strong you are?” he whispered, tears leaking down his cheeks once the baby was in his arms again. “You got that from your father. Your brain comes from me. Your father is the strongest man this universe has ever seen, my darling. You are just like him. Once, your father and I went on a hunt when we were small. We were looking for a dragon! A big dragon that breathed blue fire…”

He told every story he knew. The baby’s crying turned to whimpers once the storm had ended and night’s cold set in. Loki wrapped him in every cloth and fur he could find until he was a big bundle in his arms.

When it was almost dawn, the baby’s breathing became too shallow. Loki lay curled around him, stroking his cheeks and kissing his temple and begging him to live with every press of his lips. The tangerine sat in a frayed mess of white tendons and peels.

All at once, the baby gasped. Loki’s heart lurched, but his son kept breathing. But his son’s eyes were wide with the coming darkness. Loki had to shut his eyes and bite down on his quivering bottom lip just for a moment. There wasn’t much time.

“Please do not be frightened,” he soothed through quaking lips. “Valhalla is so wonderful, darling. It is warm there.”

The baby started to shake. He was scared out of his mind. Loki curled around him tighter and lifted his tiny body from the furs and pressed him tight to his chest so his son could hear his heartbeat.

“Mommy’s here,” he cooed. “Mommy will always keep you warm and safe. You sleep now, little one. When you open your eyes you will be warm and happy and never be hungry again.” He moved his lips against the soft fuzz of the baby’s head, tickling his stomach that had once been so full. “I am so sorry. I wanted to see you grow up. I-I wanted to see if you looked like your father or if—“ Tears wetted his lips and trickled onto his son’s head. “I wanted everything for you.”

Suddenly little green eyes looked into his own and a horrible twist in his stomach told him that this was the end. Loki’s heart wrenched but he smiled, just as he had the first time those eyes had opened. He remembered being so thankful that they were green because Thor would never question them.

His baby’s breathing started to hitch, but he did not look afraid any longer. Loki wiggled his finger and a tiny fist closed around it and Loki remembered the first time that had happened too. “Goodbye darling,” he whispered with a shaking voice, his eyes scanning all of his baby’s being as if to capture it and store it away forever. “Mommy loves you so much. More than—“

A little puff of air left Loki’s mouth instead of a word when his baby’s tiny lips parted. Loki found himself waiting for a smile or a gleeful shriek. One second went by. Then another. Nothing. His son was not moving. His eyes slowly lost their light and the little hand wrapped around his finger no longer squeezed.

 

Loki wept alone as dawn punctured grey skies.

  

* * *

  

He never named his child. No name ever seemed to fit. Perhaps that should have been a sign to him. Some day, he had thought. Some day the right name would come. But it hadn’t. Instead, he had buried his baby son in the depths of a tunnel he had dug with magic as an escape route. Sometimes he had stayed awake hoping, some nights he woke and swore he heard his child crying in the depths of he tunnel, terrified and buried alive. 

“Loki,” Thor said gently, coaxing him awake.

Only Loki’s eyes moved to look at his brother. “Did you find my son?” he rasped. Thor bit his bottom lip, looking as if he were about to cry. Loki just watched him expectantly.

“Yes,” Thor finally whispered. “Yes, Loki. We found him.”

“May I see him?”

It was as if those words were blades in his brother’s heart. Thor shook his head slowly, pulling Loki’s head into his lap. “Not right now, Loki. Not right now.”

“When can I see him?” Loki asked, moving a hand to tug at Thor’s tunic.

Thor gently smoothed back his hair and hushed him. “Soon, my brother.”

Finding the strength within him now, Loki sat up a little, moving to the warmth of Thor’s chest. Thor accepted him with strong, open arms—the arms Loki had been in so many times in his dreams. The arms he had longed for on so many nights. “How is he? Is he crying? I need to see him, Thor.”

He had never heard his brother sob before, but suddenly there it was. Thor was crying harder than Loki had known he was capable of doing for a man of such great happiness. Loki did not understand.

“No,” Thor finally blubbered. “He has not cried. He is safe now, Loki. You do not have to worry any longer. I’ll keep you safe now.” Thor pressed a warm kiss to his forehead and for some reason Loki found himself accepting his brother’s words.

Thor rocked him gently and sobbed openly into Loki’s hair. He could feel the wetness on his scalp but all he could to was lift a hand and thumb Thor’s collarbone where it peeked from his tunic and stare on.

“He likes sweets,” Loki said quietly after a few long moments. “Sometimes...” he smiled at the memory. “Sometimes I bring him sweets from the market.  When…when he hears me unwrapping one he starts to laugh.” He nuzzled into Thor’s chest. “The crinkled paper is just as fun as the sweet.” He could remember the way firelight danced off of those round, happy cheeks.

“Tell me,” Thor said softly between hiccups.

Loki smiled and shook his head fondly. “We share them. He has a taste, I have a taste. Oh,” he laughed. “He loves when I put the sweet in my mouth and pucker my cheeks like this.” He demonstrated, sucking his cheeks in and squeezing his eyes shut. “We have so much fun with sweets.”

“I have a sweet for you,” Thor said with a sniffle.

“You do?” Loki could not help but smile—he had a sweet tooth and Thor knew that better than anyone.

“Yes.” Thor shifted and presented a red, unwrapped sweet. Loki’s eyes went soft and he lifted a hand to gently trace the round curve of the hard sugar. “Do you want to share it with me, Loki?”

Loki licked his lips, then looked up at his brother. His Thor. The father who would never know he was the father of Loki’s son. “Yes,” he whispered, retuning his eyes to the sweet.  His fingers trailed down the staircase of Thor’s, his mind gone, lost in a cavern seven years ago.

“I like this one,” Loki murmured. “This one is red, just like your cheeks.”


End file.
